Chemical Brothers Appeal to Basic Instinct

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to “get” the Chemical Brothers’ high-tech brand of pop, but then, the English duo’s music has little to do with the brain’s higher functions. During their performance Tuesday at the Hollywood Palladium, it was best to be out on the dance floor, letting their hard-driving electro-funk hit you where it’s supposed to--in the viscera.

For just over 90 minutes, Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons crafted a seamless set of futuristic disco, hunched over their consoles like twin Wizards of Oz, dwarfed by the black-and-white projections and throbbing strobe lights among their ever-thickening sonic cacophony. They bowed slightly to performance conventions ignored until recently--such as acknowledging the audience--but the young tribe didn’t expect conversation. Communication came through the sounds themselves, and so a diaphragm-rattling bass note elicited the sort of cheers a hearty “How ya doin’, L.A.?” might extract from an average rock crowd.

And let’s face it--this stuff isn’t about talking. The tunes’ primal sexuality was palpable, if deliberately held in check. For all the throbbing beats, the music had far more tension than release. There wasn’t much point to actually watching the performers create: Half-obscured by their equipment racks on the darkened stage, they weren’t nearly as compelling as the scene they conjured up. But you weren’t supposed to pay attention to the men behind the curtain, just be dazzled by their sorcery.